A Trade
by Silver Bones in a Green Sauce
Summary: "Offering you a trade, Weasley. My trip to Paris for a favor." Percy/Draco smut.


Draco Malfoy was _not, _in any way or form, in a good mood. It was not, as his wife—Merlin, he hated that woman—called it, one of his famous 'spoiled Malfoy brat attacks,' it was not a result of having to put up with constant _moaning _(the kind associated with whining, though Draco considered any type of moaning, whether she was in pain or pleasure, coming from the harpie he had married to be a fowl sound) in his own home, and it wasn't even the fact that some assistant had made the seriously bad mistake of spilling coffee on his suite. No, Draco was upset about something else _entirely—_he had been stood up, and by a _Weasley _at that!

Draco could handle a lot of things: he managed to put up with his wife every day and not strangle her, for instance. But this? This was too much; he had never been so bloody _insulted _in his whole life. Honestly, when he got his hands on that red-headed monstrosity...

It wasn't a date that he had been stood up for; no, no one had the stones to do _that_ to a Malfoy, even if the respect for the family name had taken quite a beating after the war, and, even if someone _was _brave enough to do so, Draco had trouble understanding why they would _want_ to—even after the hell he had been through (and it _was _hell being an ex-Death Eater, even if he had switched sides in the end), he still looked bloody gorgeous. He had grown taller during the years after the war, but not freakishly tall like a certain Weasley (not the one who had committed such an atrocity as standing him up) he could name. His sharp features had remained that way, but they suited him more with age. His blond hair had grown past his shoulders, and it was neither tied nor slicked back. His clothing style had actually gotten _better_ over the years since he was now the Head of the Malfoy house, and his father, other than some heavy sneering, generally left him alone about the way he chose to dress himself. Draco Malfoy was, without a doubt, a catch.

So where the hell was Weasley? They were supposed to be having a meeting in the bastard's office this very minute about whether or not Draco was aloud to leave the country for the holidays. Honestly, it wasn't like France was _so_ far away—not that a Weasley would know anything about _France—_but the Ministry had strict policies about former Death Eaters leaving the country. Seeing the Head of the Department of Magical Transportation seemed both unnecessary and out of place; shouldn't he be directed towards a security department instead of having to see someone who deals with flying cars or other idiotic wastes of time? Draco had come to the conclusion that wasting his time was exactly what the Ministry was _trying_ to do; he was, after all, siting in an office with no Weasley in sight. The pompous git was probably off somewhere drinking tea, kissing up to somebody's hairy arse.

Seven minutes. He had been sitting in an empty office waiting for Weasley for _seven_ minutes. He kept checking his watch frequently, not trusting the clock on the wall, and, after the eighth minute came and gone, he finally stood up, not willing to waste any more of his precious time. Exiting the office—making sure to slam the door on the way out—he scowled at anyone brave enough to make eye contact with him on the way to the elevator, especially the assistant who had spilt coffee on him earlier. Stepping into the elevator, shoulders stiff, he was ready to let his frustration out on anyone standing too close to him; he had been expecting the elevator to be crowded liked it usually was, but there was only one other person inside of it—none other than Weasley himself.

"Well, well, well," He made sure to have more contempt in his sneer than he usually did. "Peter Weasley. Hiding out in an elevator, are we? I know that I'm intimidating, Weasley, but really..." His smirk dropped a bit as he became serious; the anger he had previously felt had dimmed from the surprise when he saw who he was in the elevator with, but now that it was wearing off, the anger was coming back to him. "We had an _appointment_, Weasel."

Weasley himself seemed to be in a fowl mood, but Draco wasn't intimidated; he had never been afraid of the Weasley family, and he wasn't going to back down now, even if his trip depended on the man standing in front of him consenting him to it. For all he was concerned Weasley could suck his co—

"The name is _Percy_," the red-head said, cutting his thought off. "And I'm _aware_ of our meeting Malfoy; I was heading to my office right now. I had more important matters to tend to first, not that that's any of _your_ business."

Draco's scowl came back full force at the idea that anyone could be more important than _him_. Honestly, the Weasel should have been grateful that he was even _speaking_ to him. He had probably been right; Peter—Percy, he corrected himself—had probably been having tea with someone, kissing arse.

"Not anymore, Weasley," he said, referring to their appointment. "I'm going home. I'll have my lawyers contact you about my trip to Paris."

He turned his back to the taller man, done with their conversation. _Nobody _stood up a Malfoy and got a second chance; hell, he couldn't even recall anyone standing a Malfoy up in the first place. Weasley would regret being late. His lawyers would see to that. In the mean time, he would just ignore the red-headed man. The elevator ride couldn't be so long since—and then something _dawned _on him, and he pressed the 'open' button repeatedly.

"Why isn't this bloody thing opening?"

He kept pressing the button, but it was no good; the elevator wasn't opening, and, as far as he could tell, it wasn't even _moving_. Weasley confirmed his fears.

"It sticks sometimes. We haven't found a way to fix it yet. It'll unstick itself in a few minutes. Now then," He cleared his throat as if he was trying to force something out of it. Draco knew that he wouldn't like whatever the older man was about to say. "About the appointment, Malfoy, either you'll have it with me _today_ or you'll come back next month. I'm very busy until then, and you know very well that I refuse to see your lawyers. Either you beg me yourself, or no deal."

Wasn't this the Weasley that was supposed to be professional? A kiss-arse? A _professional _kiss-arse? Then again, their families had never gotten along. Perhaps the importance of the Malfoy name couldn't be properly understood in the thick head of the man standing behind him. That had to be it; why else would he ever suggest that Draco Malfoy would _beg? _

That was when an idea hit him. He could feel his smirk coming back, full force this time, and he forced himself to relax his shoulders. He turned so they were facing eachother, unsurprised to note that the other man was tense. Weasley was probably expecting an argument, he knew, but he was sure the other man was tense for _another_ reason; people like Percy Weasley were so _repressed. _The bloke probably hadn't had a good shag in years, if ever—Draco could recall what the other boy was like in school, and he didn't doubt it.

"Malfoys don't _beg_, Weasley. Surely you know that?"

He was stepping closer to the red-head, a bit irritated that the man wasn't backing up. He had thought that Weasley—Merlin forbid he ever admit this to someone—actually had some brains in his head. Had Draco remembered him from school incorrectly? Wasn't he smart enough to realize that an agitated Malfoy walking towards you was usually a bad sign? Or was he _underestimating _the man? Did he know what he was planning?

Doubtful.

"What do you think you're doing, Malfoy?"

Ah. Draco hadn't underestimated him after all. Weasley was probably holding his ground because of that damnable Gryffindor courage. It was sickening, really, but Draco would have to get over it if he wanted to his plan to work.

"Offering you a _trade,_ Weasley." He stepped close enough to smell the man's cologne—something cheap, he could tell, though it was surprisingly pleasant. They were now a breath apart, and Draco caught his eyes glancing down at the Weasley's lips, though he honestly didn't mean to; it disgusted him, but he would think on it later. For now, he had other matters at hand to deal with. He dropped his hand to Weasley's belt, letting his fingers wrap around it, tugging. He didn't expect it to come off, but Weasley would surely get the idea. "My trip to Paris for a _favor._"

"Honestly, Malfoy," Weasley rolled his eyes and sounded genuinely disgusted, but he didn't move to push Draco away. "I thought that Malfoys had more dignity than _this._"

Weasley was glancing around the elevator as if someone was actually _in _there with them, and it caused Draco's paranoia to kick in for a moment before he realized that the red-head was probably just calculating how long they'd have. This, along with the fact that he hadn't been shoved away yet, seemed like a good enough sign that trade had been accepted. He had no doubt that it would be—Weasley looked more repressed by the second, now that Draco was actually _looking_ at him—but he had thought that a Weasley would put up more of a fight, as stubborn as they were. If it wasn't for all of the shite that he had been through that morning already, Draco would have considered it his lucky day.

"I have plenty of dignity, Weasley. I just don't see the point of wasting it on the likes of _you_."

Not wanting to waste any more time—Draco could see why the elevator had been so unoccupied before; they had been stuck in there for at least ten bloody minutes—he sunk to his knees; Weasley's eyes had narrowed and he had tensed even more, if that was even possible, at Draco's insult. Draco would have to get a move on, in case Weasley changed his mind.

"Besides," his hands moved to Weasley's thighs, spreading them; he rubbed them slowly in an attempt to get the man above him to relax. "It's not undignified to suck cock." He tilted his head up, allowing his icy eyes to meet surprisingly warm blue ones. "I've been told that I'm quite good at it, too."

He dropped his head a bit, his eyes focusing on the crotch in front of him. Had there been a tent in Weasley's trousers before he even hit on the man? He cursed himself silently for not noticing; it would have been good blackmail material. Then again, considering he was about to suck the man off, maybe it would be unwise to try to blackmail him.

He was bringing his hand up to unzip the man's trousers when Weasley stopped it with his own hand; it was warm and soft like the man's eyes. Draco raised his eyes once more to meet that sea of blue. Had he really gone too far with the dignity comment? Was it too late? Weasley's usually had more fight in them than _that_.

"No." Weasley dropped his hand, instead placing both of his own hands on Draco's head. Draco was about to swat them away, not permitting the comment, but Weasley's next comment surprised him, and he decided to allow it. "Use your teeth to unzip it."

He could recall Blaise telling him once that the quiet ones were usually the kinkiest ones. Draco had scoffed at him at the time, but if Weasley kept surprising him with things like _that_, he might just have to agree...

Draco's eyes narrowed; he didn't like the idea of a _Weasley _commanding him to do something. He would allow it though; he wanted to see where this would go. He nodded, his eyes going back to Weasley's crotch. His hands raised and he could feel the man above him watching him closely; he regretted missing the look of surprise that surely crossed Weasley's face when he cupped the man's surprisingly firm arse in his hands, but he had work to do. He bent his head forward slowly, catching the zipper in his teeth. Weasley's fingers became more tangled in his hair as he pulled the zipper down slowly, and he squeezed the man's arse as a form of punishment. He removed his hands to unbutton the trousers and then to pull them down, along with the underwear Weasley was wearing beneath them.

Weasley's prick was around the length of Draco's, but it was thicker in width. Draco wrapped his hand around it, not the least bit shy, and pumped slowly; it felt good in his hand, admittedly, and Draco darted his tongue out to taste the head, pleased to find that the taste wasn't exactly bad either. He took one of the red-head's balls into his mouth, sucking softly, enjoying the heavy feel on his tongue. His hand was stroking Weasley's cock while he massaged one of the balls with his free hand, all the while keeping up the sucking.

He could hear Weasley grunting softly, trying to control himself. Deciding that that just wouldn't do, that he wanted the man above him to lose every bit of control, he moved both of his hands to wrap around the shaft, his mouth moving to suck on the head. He was working at a slow pace, having forgotten about the lack of time, and his hands moved to cup Weasley's arse once more. He took a little bit more into his mouth, but his slow pace wasn't pleasing the man above him as much as he'd like; he felt the fingers in his hair tighten roughly.

Out of all the Weasleys, he was with the one that he suspected would be the most boring in bed, the one that would restrict himself and be rigid—so, when his head was tugged forward by his hair and his mouth was being fucked roughly into, he was rightfully shocked. He relaxed his throat easily after the brief shock wore off; he had lost his gag reflex years earlier. Deciding to be bold—if a _Weasley _was going to fuck his mouth with his cock, he wasn't going to be meek either—his fingers slid down the man's arse crack, spreading his cheeks. Weasley's thrusts slowed down a bit and Draco would bet money that the man's eyes were narrowed again, but after deciding to allow to the new change, he went back to his previous pace. Smirking around Weasley's cock, Draco began to probe at the man's hole. Weasley, not to Draco's surprise, did not seem to appreciate this; his thrusts became slower than they had been before until they stopped all together.

"Not this way, Malfoy." He untangled his fingers from the blond hair and moved his hands to Draco's shoulders, pushing at them. "Stand up and lean against the wall."

The order came to a surprise to Draco, but the smirk never left his mouth. He pulled his mouth off of the man's cock, causing an obscene slurping sound, and raised an eyebrow. Deciding that smart comments would only go against him getting what he wanted—and Draco _did _want this, he realized—he kept his mouth shut. Standing slowly, he moved to the other end of the elevator, his back to the man behind him, and pressed his hands to the wall.

He could hear Weasley coming up behind him; he was walking slowly, deliberately, making Draco wait longer than he would have liked. When the man finally reached him, he wrapped his arms around Draco's waist—Draco wouldn't usually allow such a thing, even during sex—and pressed his front to Draco's back. He swallowed, not bothering to care if the red-head heard him. He could feel Weasley's cock press up against his arse, firm and hard. The older man unbuttoned and unzipped Draco's trousers with one of his hands, the other slipping underneath Draco's shirt to rub at his stomach. His trousers and underwear were pulled down slowly; Percy—_Weasley_, he corrected himself—moved his hand down Draco's pale stomach to wrap around the blonde's dick, pumping slowly. The red-head moved a leg between Draco's to spread them, his free hand moving to cup an arse cheek. Draco could feel Percy's—bloody _hell—_cock slide down his arse cheeks, and he was getting impatient.

"For the love of—will you bloody hurry up!"

Weasley's head dropped to his shoulder and—though Draco found it hard to believe—he could feel a bloody _smirk_ forming on the older man's lips.

"Now, now, Malfoy," Weasley's hand stopped pumping Draco's prick, instead moving to his unoccupied arse cheek. "That's not very _nice_ of you, now is it?" A leg was nudging his legs even further apart and nails were beginning to dig into his pale cheeks. "I think that a 'please' from you would make things run smoother."

Draco grit his teeth together while considering his options. If he refused, Weasley was likely to stop what he was doing and refuse him his request. If he went along with it, his pride was at stake. Then again... He _had_ said that he wasn't going to bother wasting any dignity on a Weasley. Besides, what was it he had decided about not being meek?

"_Please_, Weasley, hurry up and fuck my arse sore."

The red-head made a pleased sound in the back of his throat. Not wasting any more time, his hands moved to Draco's pale hips, his teeth sunk down on the blonde's throat, and he pushed his cock into the tight ass pressed against him. Draco groaned lightly as relief—along with something _else—_filled him and he let his head drop; he pressed back against the man behind him, and Weasley, taking the unnecessary hint, began to fuck him at a leisurely pace.

"Bloody _hell_," one of his arse cheeks got a rough smack for the broken silence but it only encouraged him. "Will you hurry it up?" Then, after another smack and a small pause, "Please?"

"So _dignified, _Malfoy."

Weasley, still smirking though Draco couldn't see it, sunk his teeth into the back of the pale neck in front of him. His pace picked up and his thrusts became rougher. Draco was pushing back against him, moaning like a whore, but he was too aroused to care. He was about to cum, and, going by the sounds that Weasley himself was making, the red-head wouldn't be far behind.

"Fuck, Weasley," Draco began to stroke himself, almost ready to hit his peak. "Cum in me!"

Weasley's next thrust was the hardest one so far, and, with that, Draco finally spilled his seed, coating his hand with it. Percy—bloody hell, fuck it, he'd call him Percy—finished after a few more thrusts, filling Draco with his cum.

They were both panting heavily, and it was a moment before either of them moved. After standing there for Merlin knows how long—it felt like an eternity to Draco—Percy finally pulled out, being more gentle while doing so than he had been during the act itself. Draco, having to use more self-restraint than he would have liked, kept himself from sliding down to the floor. He turned, his back leaning against the elevator wall, and watched as the red-headed man dressed himself. After Percy had his clothes back on and was straightening himself up, Draco finally moved to do the same, cleaning the mess he made against wall up in the processes.

They stood in silence for a while, neither feeling awkward but daring the other to speak first, before the taller of the two finally spoke up.

"I think that there may be an opening in my schedule after all, Malfoy. Try again Sunday, around nine." With a flick of his wand the elevator door opened and Percy Weasley stepped out. "_Don't_ be late. We can discuss your visit to France then."

Draco couldn't decide if he was impressed or agitated when it dawned on him that Weasley had stopped the elevator from moving himself, sticking them inside of it on purpose.

He was rather impressed, he decided; it wouldn't do good to be angry come Sunday when he offered another _trade _to the man.


End file.
